Supine
by Mrs Bella Riddle
Summary: Andromeda was not the woman everyone thought she was. She did not deserve compliments about her morality and her bravery for fleeing her family. She did not deserve anything. Her past made that clear.


Written for Ginny_The_Red_Head's Vocabulary Challenge. I had the word supine meaning failing to protest as a result of moral weakness. After chopping and changing many times, I eventually settled on something about Andromeda. Strangely I have never written anything about her despite roleplaying her and having a firm view of her. Unlike most, my Andromeda is not brave, strong willed or sweet. She is in many ways cool, aloof, cunning and someone who is always cautious. In many ways she will back down rather than face a confrontation she believes is pointless.

Thus, here we go. The fic that just grew longer and longer including more and more of my strange head canon.

* * *

St Mungos was full of its usual hustle and bustle as the waiting room was crammed to capacity like every Friday Night. The first time Andromeda had seen the room bursting with moaning men, crying woman, gaping wounds and deformed skulls, she had only been eighteen. Freshly graduated from Hogwarts and starting Healer Training, the other trainees had been traumatised and some had been unable to look at the patients and others had just retched into their hands.

Not Andromeda Black.

She had walked into the busy hospital with her head held high fitting her station as a Black. Her eyes, the colour of bark on an ageing tree, flitted over the patients with only a fine layer of interest. Many had labelled her as cold, cruel and heartless from that moment on. How could she be unaffected by people's suffering? The truth was she had seen such displays time and time again.

She was a Black after all.

At that time she had still been a Black. The views from many was that she her as a proud and proper little pureblood brat who cared nothing for anyone and had no heart like the rest of her family.

She honestly had not cared what those around her thought. She knew who she was. She knew there was no shame in hiding her emotions, in case they would be used against her like so many had tried to do in the past. She knew she had feelings and, most of all, she had a heart. They were only right about one thing: She was arrogant. She was not filled with superiority but it was not because of her blood status, but because of their foolishness, their lack of class and their tastelessness.

However, more than eighteen months later, their views towards her had changed. After the final crack in her family loyalty, violence she could not ignore and a tug around her heart that pulled too much for her to resist, she left the Black family and married muggleborn Ted Tonks. The scandal quickly covered papers and gossip magazines and was a subject of whispering that filled many circles. Andromeda did not care. She had more important things to worry about than what others were saying about her.

The thing was she had expected the gossip to be filled with negatives. She thought she would have been known as a traitor and a whore, just like how she imagined her family talked about her.

She was wrong. It was filled with praise.

Most of the staff at the hospitals would smile at her, pat her on the back and congratulate her on her marriage. The first time it had happened, her composure had broken, she had halted and she had turned and stared at the girl in shock. Then she had not understood.

Now she did.

They all thought she was brave and just. To them, she juxtaposed to her family. She was the stuff of fairy tales more worthy of a story than anything written by Beedle the Bard. She was the pure white princess in the sea of black. She had married for love and turned her back on the curse that had been laid upon her only because she had been unlucky enough to be born into the family. She was brave and she was fearless enough to stand up to them all.

Every one of them was wrong: Both the assessment of her as a cold cruel Black or the brave princess striving forth against the immortality of her family.

They did not know the true Andromeda.

Walking through with her head held high, Andromeda ignored the pleasant greetings and hands that tried to draw her into conversation. She did not acknowledge any of them in a way in her mother might have viewed as rude. Instead, she continued her grateful stride and kept her face stony until she could finally apparate home.

With a loud crack and a flurry of her cloak, she arrived in the living room of what was now her home. On the outskirts of a small town in Hampshire, she and Ted had purchased their marital home. Ted had spent his entire life living in the city, but, knowing it was what she would have wanted, he had insisted they find a nice secluded place in the country. There they could start a family without any worry.

Ted never failed to surprise her. No one had ever been as sweet, kind or as funny as Ted. He thought he was lucky, yet she knew who really was.

He was out that night. Her shift was scheduled to finish late and she insisted he see his family rather than spend the night waiting alone at home for her.

She was grateful she had been insistent because, as she righted herself from her apparition, her breath was shaky, her eyes wide and her head filled with thoughts of her past that always managed to catch up with her. She liked to believe the words of others did not impact her, but they did. Just not in the way most would think.

Those at work liked to flatter her, yet she knew she was the person who was least deserving of compliments about bravery and moral actions. If she really was the person they painted her, she would have left her family long ago, she would not still think about many of her relatives in a positive light and she would have stepped in and saved so many people.

She had not.

She was not brave. She was supine.

* * *

The Christmas of 1969 had been planned by Druella Black for four years. Each year the holiday was hosted by a different line of their family. One year it was the head of the family and his wife Great Uncle Arcturus and Great Aunt Melania, the next it was Aunt Walburga and Uncle Orion, then it was Grandfather Pollux and Grandmother Irma until, finally, it was their turn.

Despite being Blacks, their family had a reputation as the lesser fringe of the family. Originating from Cygnus Black II, the youngest son of Phineas Nigellus Black, they could not even claim to be his heirs for that honour went to Uncle Alpharad. Their only asset to infamy was that their ancestor had been a self made man. Unlike his brother Sirius Black II, who had inherited the majority of the wealth, or Arcturus Black I, who had made do on what he had been given, Cygnus Black II had worked away for years. First he had slaved away in the Ministry, then into business and, finally, he had made several key investments. It had resulted in more wealth flowing through the lesser branch than would be expected, but, more than that, it had spurned a sense of pride and ambition to prove to the others that their line was worth more than the heirs.

Druella Black nee Rosier had taken on that mission with more gusto than any wife before her. Andromeda had spent her entire life being groomed by her mother to be a proper young lady and future wife, so it was no surprise to watch her mother's obsession with show and how things should appear, dominate as she rushed around the house.

Andromeda had the sense to sit to the side. Eyes hidden behind her History of Magic textbook, she spent Christmas Eve in the shadows of the downstairs drawing room as her mother and an army of house elves marched in and out of the room and rushed up and down the stairs. She did not do anything but stayed firmly out of the way to avoid attention.

Fourteen year old Narcissa ignored that advice, instead she trailed after her mother offering assistance at every opportunity. Andromeda would have thought it might have drawn her mother's ire instead, every time Andromeda saw the interaction, she could have sworn her mother had started to smile. The final sister, the now eighteen year old Bellatrix, did a better job than even Andromeda for she had seen to disappear completely. In fact, despite being home for five days, Andromeda could count on her hands the few times she had actually had a proper conversation with her sister.

It was only on Christmas Day that they could finally relax. Dressed befitting their station with ornate hair styles and silk gowns, the three sisters sat beside each other near their father's seat on the long dining table for Christmas Lunch. Surrounded by aging and youthful Blacks and blonde haired and sly faced Rosiers, it was just another family occasion. Andromeda chose to keep her head down, speak only when spoken to and take dainty bites out of her delicious meal. It was the wisest idea.

Her sisters did not think the same. Narcissa took a page from her mother's book. She complimented and competed with small talk that no one could fault with Grandmother Irma and Great Aunt Cassiopeia who were sitting across from her. Narcissa's voice was dainty and small rather than choose to interrupt or bother the table with her conversation.

The same could not be said for Bellatrix. Having pushed her plate aside after only a few bites of her beef, she was leaning forward eagerly as she spoke to her father on her right and Uncle Orion too far down the table for the discussion to be appropriate. It had all started when Uncle Orion had commented about the mudbloods Cousin Sirius had to share his dormitory with. What had followed had been the usual tales of woe as society disintegrated. Bellatrix had never been the type to shy away from that line of conversation but this time she seemed even more spirited than usual.

"I do not see why there are so many complaints." Bellatrix stated with a proud gleam in her eyes as her gaze flicked around the table. "There is a solution. Anyone who reads the papers knows there is a way to finally make the changes."

Andromeda's body stiffened slightly as she kept her eyes focused on her meal. She, like everyone else, knew who Bellatrix was talking about: Lord Voldemort the man who was gathering followers, calling for the deaths of mudbloods and surrounded by rumours of violence and blood lust.

"I think we are all aware of the barbarism from the man who calls himself Lord with no credentials to his name," Uncle Orion said softly with the slightest amount of disapproval. "There is no reason we should trust him."

"Because there is no other way," Bellatrix snapped back and, from her tone, Andromeda half expected she would start slamming her fists into the table soon. "His views are right. His measures are right. His words are right and his actions are right. Why are there so many complaints?"

"Enough," Arcturus said coldly and eerily softly, yet he drew the attention of everyone at the table. "Mind your behaviour, Bellatrix. Orion is correct. This man is nothing. We will not waste our time on this man."

The table was silent. Even Bellatrix, but, from the way she twisted in her seat, Andromeda knew she was itching to speak. Nevertheless her lips remained sealed and she continued to glare into her roast meat.

After that the discussion faded as an unsteady truce settled which all was afraid to break, even as they moved away from the dining table. Andromeda may have thought that was the end of the talk, if she did not pass by the back balcony at just the right, or wrong, moment.

Striding by the curtains that were fluttering in the chilly winter breeze, Andromeda halted when she heard lowered voices on the balcony. She should have continued walking, but she could not prevent herself from stopping.

"He will be pleased by your words," The deep and calm voice of Uncle Rosier said softly from behind the curtains as if he was afraid of being caught. "I can promise you. If it is what you truly want I can tell him. I can tell him of your loyalty and your potential, but you must know, if I do, there is no backing out."

"Do it!" Her sister's voice reached her, full of more eagerness and passion than she had displayed over Christmas Lunch. "I want to serve him. I want to be a Death Eater. No one else in this family is brave enough, but I am."

"Are you-"

Before her uncle had even finished his question her sister broke through his words. "Yes! I want to join the Death Eaters!"

Andromeda felt herself freeze. She had always known that no sympathy had ever existed between her sister and mudbloods but to hear she would happily join such a violent group. Was this really her sister?

"Okay then I will let him know. Expect my owl and, hopefully in a few nights, I will take you to him."

There was the sound of footsteps and, rather than stay behind to be caught and to confront them, Andromeda dashed off silently in the other direction. She knew she should have argued with her sister. She should have told her she was doing the wrong thing, but she could not. She feared how it would make her sister think of her and she feared it would achieve little.

Instead, she did nothing.

She was not brave. She was supine.

* * *

For the next few days, Andromeda's reluctance to speak about what she had overheard continued. Luckily her sister persistently kept to herself. She was not sure if she could have looked Bella in the eye without thinking of her words. She had considered telling Cissy or her parents, but it would be pointless and she feared her sisters repercussions if she knew she had told them.

Instead she kept her head down, lingered and listened. Despite herself, she was waiting to see if she could catch her sister leaving, even if she was not sure if she could do anything.

Five days after Christmas, at about one in the morning, unintentionally it eventually happened. Having been unable to sleep, Andromeda was walking downstairs to get a drink from the kitchen when she almost ran head first into another figure.

Bellatrix was covered in thick black robes with a hood hanging unused around her neck exposing her inky locks that were pulled up in a messy bun. Her face was flushed with bright eyes, despite the fact her right arm clenched her left forearm as if in pain.

"Bella!" she gasped in shock as she stepped backwards and continued to stare wide eyed at her sister. "What are you doing? Where have you been?"

As she could have predicted, she did not revive an answer. Bella only shrugged with detachment as she continued to smile. "Out. What are you doing up at this hour?"

Indicating to the flimsy nightgown she wore, she tried to smile. It came out as more of a grimace. "I was asleep. I just was going down to get a drink."

Again her sister shrugged and, without a word, she walked past her. Andromeda could have reached out to grab her hand and convinced her not do this, but again, she did not.

She was not brave. She was supine.

* * *

One of the final nails on the coffin towards the opinion of her sister came only a few months before she eloped with Ted.

It had been several weeks since she had seen her sister and her mother had given her the job of informing Bellatrix she was expected to attend brunch on Sunday. Normally that task, like most she dished out, would have been given to Narcissa, but, since she was still at Hogwarts, the duty had been passed to Andromeda.

The old grey imposing stone and symmetrical windows of Eastwell Manor loomed above her as she apparated onto the ruler cut luscious lawns. It was all ordered, meticulously maintained and filled with traditions and customs. She had grown up around such sights so she just continued along the path and to the main door where she was greeted by an ageing house elf. The creature bowed before her, but her attention was focused on something else: Screaming.

As she stood in the main Entrance Hall of the Lestrange Estate, she was rooted to the spot as high pitched wails and pleading shrieks reached her ears. It terrified her, yet it was so close.

Biting down on her bottom lip and clenching her wand tightly in her pocket, she cautiously crept towards the noise as if, at every moment, she was prepared to turn and flee.

The wails seemed to grow louder and louder, but she was too curious not to look. Finally the door was open and, to her good fortune, it was only partially closed leaving a small gap between the door and the frame for her to peak through.

There was a figure on the floor: A girl only a few years older than her and likely a muggle by the clothes that she wore which were now in tatters exposing her undergarments and bruised and bloodied flesh. She was withering wildly as her limbs flailed and slammed into the marble floor as she screamed herself hoarse.

Pressing herself further into the door, her eyes flicked to the other figure. With a maniacal grin dressing her features, a mad gleam in her eyes, her sister laughed inhumanly as her wand was pointed at the girl. She lifted it slowly as her victim stirred.

"Please," she moaned as she tried to find her knees but she could barely squirm. "Please don't. Please let me go. Please I will not tell anyone."

Her sister did not respond. With a roar of merciless laughter another curse escaped her wand answering the girl's pleas. Again the muggle girl screamed.

Feeling sick, Andromeda cautiously stepped away from the door. There was a girl in there being tortured and would likely be killed. Her own sister was doing it. She wished she could be the type to rush in there and save the girl who did not deserve that fate.

Instead she turned and left as fast as she could. She could not do anything. Her sister would do kill her if she tried.

That was at least what she told herself as she fled.

She was not brave. She was supine.

* * *

Throughout it all, Andromeda did nothing. Even before she had seen her sister as a torturer she had noticed her sister arriving home at odd hours of the night with ripped and blood splattered robes. On more than one occasion, she could equate those late arrivals to the attacks or deaths she would read in the Prophet the next day.

She knew her sister was a murderer. She knew what she was. She knew what a menace she was, but she did nothing.

Even after Andromeda had left the family, she had more than enough evidence to pin down her sister for her crimes, yet she was silent. She wished she could have said it was for some noble reason or some loyalty to her family.

It was not.

She was just scared.

So, as she sat alone before the hearth in her and her husband's house, she closed her eyes and tried to forget about the compliments because they were all false.

She was not brave. She was just supine.

Weak willed little Andromeda.

She could not steady her breathing as the memories of her past continued to engulf her.

Always weak.

Always powerless.

Always scared.

Always supine.


End file.
